AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Shout out to Kismetian for the hilarious review… You, my dear, have now given Edward a nickname. Ladies and gents, I give you Twatward.

A quick thank you to those that review. It means so much to me :)

Now we get to spend some time in Forks with the Mother and Father and learn a little bit more about Edward's home life. Nuff said on that topic.

To avoid confusion, this story used to be "All the Wildflowers in the World." Kind of a long title, I didn't like it, etcetera etcetera. New name, which I like much better. Capice?

If you want a point of reference for Edward's home, I just created a flickr account with some great pictures:

www (dot) flickr (dot) com / photos / 58458509N06 / sets / 72157627308379304 /

Now, would a house like this be built in Forks? Probably not. Again, creative license. Keep checking back for updates on stuff, but I'll remind you at the beginning of each chapter.

Alright, enough of that. Here we go!

Club music:
Loose as a Goose – Lil Boosie
Make It Rain – Kottonmouth Kings
Get Low – Stat Quo
Make It Nasty - Tyga

Chapter Two: Trophy Son

"Oh right right right, I'm supposed to act like I don't know if it's right, so that you tell me that there is no right or wrong. It's just the moment. And then I tell you that I can't, while actually signaling to you that I can, which you don't need because you're not really listening. Because this isn't about connection for you, this isn't even about sex for you. This is about finding an hour or two of relief from the pain of being you." – Love and Other Drugs

Dinner with my parents was never an all-too-happy affair. We ate food, answered each other monosyllabically and stared at the walls for most of the time—well, I did anyway. My mother sat at one end of the table and constantly complained about the décor of the dining room, proposing new ideas for curtains or a different shade of black maple for the floor. My father sat on the other end, sometimes reading the newspaper, sometimes on his laptop.

The table seated sixteen. Fourteen chairs separated them in the middle.

And me. I separated them too. Three chairs on either side of me.

The atmosphere was arctic, and not just because Edward Sr. kept the thermostat down to sixty in the middle of winter during a snowstorm. He was pissed about something, as usual, and Mother was doing her usual flittering about, trying to calm him down and distract him but basically just making everything worse.

They'd been prying, as usual, but I'd been dodging the Inquisition like the plague, avoiding my father's questions about Harvard and ignoring my mother's inquiries into my extracurriculars.

I could only imagine how that conversation would go.

Well, Mother, rather than join the rowing club or partake in fencing, I've been snorting any powdery shit I can get my hands on and fucking the Senator's daughter.

She'd choke on her snow peas and die of asphyxiation. Or a stroke.

Whichever came first.

I sat rigidly in my seat, pushing my food around my plate rather than eating it. Why she insisted on having these retched dinners was beyond me. It was torture for probably every single person at the table—Dad would rather be holed up in his office with cigars and paperwork. I'd rather be in my room reading or down in the conservatory playing piano or jacking off in the shower or doing laps in the pool or…

Yeah, you get the point.

I would rather be anywhere but here.

I mean, I know she wants us to be the pretty family found in the glossy pages of some Martha Stewart-for-upscale-people magazine that she kept in her bathroom. She wants us to pretend that we can stand each other so as to create the image of a non-dysfunctional family. But unfortunately for her, that's not the case. Dad would just as much eat dinner in a homeless shelter before he would eat dinner with us.

Ah, fuck him.

I sliced through a flaky piece of salmon, pushed it through the lemon-butter sauce and then around my plate three times before spearing it and raising it to my mouth. Fortunately for me, I didn't have to eat it. My father spoke up just as it touched my lip.

"I got a call from Aro Volturi today," he said.

I felt my brow furrow. "The headmaster?"

"Yes, Edward, who else?" my mother sighed dramatically.

"Shut up, Esme," Edward said from the head of the table. His eyes were icy and cold. "I was talking to the boy."

Her lips pursed like the fish on her china plate but she said nothing, bowing her head to meet her forkful of asparagus.

"What about?" I inquired.

"Nothing much," he replied, sipping his wine lazily. "Just to catch up, schedule a golf game, that sort of thing. He informed me of your midterm scores as well."

Discussing your next golf game and my midterm grades in one breath. Casual thing, NBD.

"And?" I replied.

"You got a 96 on your Calculus exam," he said thoughtfully. His movements were slow. Drawn out. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. A pause. Breathing. "And I think a 98 in Italian. 92 in Physics, that's fine. A little too close but we can manage. I was alarmed when he informed me of the 87 percent you got in Organic Chemistry, but I donated five hundred thousand dollars to the library to get him to fudge it in the computer system. Your report should say a 91."

I sighed. Of course he would. I was past the point of surprise. Any normal person would be fucking overjoyed to get an 87 in Organic Chemistry. Hell, I was overjoyed to have gotten an 87 in Organic Chemistry without the bribery. That shit is fucking hard, plain and simple.

But not my father. Nope, anything below a 90 was not acceptable.

"That's great," I said, spearing a slice of potato.

"Have you gotten back to Caius Kahn about the internship?"

"Nope," I said, sipping my water. "Haven't gotten around to it."

"Haven't gotten around to it," my father mimicked.

Shit.

I'd pissed him off.

Here we go.

Internally, I rolled my eyes.

"Edward, that internship is a guaranteed position in one of the largest, most successful, most powerful investment banks in the world. I handed it to you on a fucking silver platter and all you had to do was press a few buttons on your goddamn phone. Is it really that hard, or are you just too busy playing patty cake with Senator Denali's daughter to do it?" I didn't answer. " Are you going to answer me," he roared, "or are you just too stupid?"

I heard my mother hiss at the end of the table. "Edward!"

I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or my father. Most likely me, since she was used to his degradation.

I said nothing.

"I mean, Jesus H Christ, Edward, I don't pay over ninety thousand dollars a year to send you to one of the most prestigious schools in the country so you can fuck around and throw your life away. I'm giving you opportunities that anyone in this bum-fuck town would give their eye-teeth for and you're just throwing it away like it's shit on your shoe."

I just sat there. There was no point in even responding to him; telling him that I made A's in some of the hardest classes possible at one of the hardest schools possible or asking him when the last time he even took Organic Chemistry was; that I'd already called Caius Kahn and the spot had already been filled; that I didn't want to go into investment banking.

I said nothing.

"The world isn't on a fucking string in your back pocket, Edward. You're going to realize that because you can't keep turning your pompous nose up at every opportunity I give you. One day I won't do it anymore and then you're going to have nowhere to go. You're going to be a miserable failure, just like—"

"Edward," my mother warned from the head of the table. "That's enough."

"Esme," he seethed, his voice barely audible. The calm with which he spoke to her made my hair stand on end. "I told you to shut up! I won't tell you again!"

I'd heard enough. Tossing my napkin onto my plate, I stood from the table. Turning away, I strode to the grand double doors that led out of the dining room as quickly as my feet would carry me, ignoring my father and mother yelling from behind me.

"Edward, we're not finished! Get back in here!"

"Edward, please! Come back and finish your salmon!"

"Good night, Mother!" I yelled, yanking the heavy door and slamming it closed behind me. I didn't stop walking as I went down the hallway, barely noticing the snow falling heavily now outside the Gothic arched windows. My footsteps thudded heavily against the carpeted floors, the sound reverberating throughout the cold, empty hallway.

I marched through the wide archway that led to the marble foyer and up the grand, sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. I continued down the dark hallway, past Guest Bedroom Numbers One and Two to my room. Closing the door behind me, I went over to my bed and flopped down on it.

After about five minutes of stuffy breathing, I rolled over and glanced about the room. Since I'd left for my first year of school, Esme had slowly begun to redecorate my room as a way of phasing me out. The once slate gray walls were now a dark, blackish steely blue. My bed had stayed, but now it was barely unrecognizable. She'd had posts built on, and rather than just leave the posts alone, she had draped them with some heavy dark blue fabric that formed a canopy.

This is bullshit, I hate this. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when I'm worried about that shit falling down and suffocating me?

She'd taken my bookshelf out and replaced it with an enormous, baroque-style black armoire. No clue where the fuck my books went. She replaced my dresser with one that matched, large and black. The floor was covered by a large, circular area rug and there was an electrical fire in the corner, surrounded by two black leather chairs. Dark, ominous paintings hung on the walls and I knew it was going to be hard to sleep because frankly, they creeped me the fuck out.

There was even a fucking chandelier.

The only things I recognized from my childhood bedroom were the large French doors that opened up to a small balcony, overlooking the large pond behind the house. Standing, I went over to them and pushed them open, welcoming the chill that hit me full in the face. I rifled through my pockets, pulling out my cigarette case which luckily I'd found in my suitcase on the way from the airport.

I placed it on my bottom lip and commenced lighting up. I took an appreciative drag but hacked all the smoke back up when I heard a disapproving, "Edward," from behind me.

"Jaysus fucking Christ!" I cursed, a bit of my Irish accent coming out. Don't ask me where it came from, we had moved from Ireland when I was ten. I'd grown well accustomed to America in the ten and a half years I'd been here. On a rare occasion such like this though, when I get scared out of my goddamn wits, it emerges, reminding me of my much more blissful youth on the emerald shores.

"You know I don't appreciate smoking in my house," my mother warned, her voice stern. "Or swearing."

"Sorry," I muttered, taking another drag and blowing smoke into the swirling arctic air. "Won't do it again."

"Your father is only doing what is best for you," she said, her voice taking on the barely-there maternal tone that she somehow managed around her all her fire-breathing. "We only want the best things for you."

"Yeah, I know," I responded, bracing myself against the black railing. "'Preciate it."

I heard her sigh behind me but didn't respond further. I continued to inhale and exhale, the smoke burning and soothing.

"Enough with the dramatics, Edward. Come down and finish your dinner."

"I'm not hungry, thanks," I responded coolly. "I'm actually pretty wrecked from the plane ride so I'd be eternally grateful if you'd leave the meddling up to Daddy Warbucks for one night and let me alone so I can sleep."

She sighed again but when I finally turned around, she had disappeared from the doorway and I could hear her heels clacking down the hallway. Moving toward the door, I pressed it closed and made sure to turn the key in the lock.

Internally I rolled my eyes. Unnecessary, annoying fucking show-off.

Tossing my cigarette into some antique vase slash urn in the corner of the room I collapsed onto the bed again, crossing my hands behind my bed and staring at the navy-fabric-covered ceiling. I stayed like that, avoiding looking anywhere but up in hopes that I could fall asleep. But I could feel the eyes of those goddamn paintings on me and they creeped me out so bad I ended up unpacking my suitcase and covering them with a few of my button-down shirts. But even then, I still couldn't sleep.

I sighed, rolling over and pressing my face into my pillow.

I was so fucked.

"Pull!"

The metal arm was released and a clay pigeon rocketed into the air. Keeping my eye trained on it, I pulled the trigger as it arched, ignoring the sting of the rifle's kickback and watching in satisfaction as it shattered with a loud pop.

"Sonofabitch," I heard from behind me.

I grinned, spinning the rifle until the barrel was pointed towards my face. I pulled out a handkerchief and began methodically wiping residue off of it. "That's ten in a row, fucker. Pay up."

A head of blond hair emerged at my right and I heard him count out the bills. "One... two... three... four... five. Five hundred dollars." He held the bills out to me. "You've got that thing rigged, Edward, I swear."

I snorted, folding the bills up and sticking them in the pocket of my jeans. "And how would I do that, Jasper? You're the only one in the state of Washington who knows how to work the goddamn thing. Plus, it's probably three hundred years old. I don't think I'd even be capable of rigging it."

"True story. By the way, I've got a friend of a friend who could get you a hefty price for it."

"I'm not selling," I said, blowing on the barrel and flipping it back around. I aimed at one of my mother's primly pruned spruce trees. "It's about the only thing that keeps me sane in this hell hole."

To emphasize my point, I pulled the trigger again, smirking as a section of the tree trunk exploded into millions of wooden shards. It was enough to make a noticeable mark without destroying the tree, though that was something I was more than willing to do.

"Esme's gonna have your ass," Jasper chuckled.

"Ah, fuck her," I shrugged. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the joint I'd rolled that morning rather than eating breakfast. I held it out to him. "You gonna have some?"

He put his hands up and shook his head. "Nah man, can't. Mrs. Whitlock has resorted to drug testing me once a week since I got kicked out of Dartmouth."

"I've got a few detox kits in my closet somewhere."

He shook his head again. "Doesn't work, man. I've tried."

"Shit," I breathed, lighting up and taking a drag. The smoke burned through my lung capillaries, suffocating me and leaving a nasty aftertaste in my mouth. I hacked up a strangled cough.

"Goddamn Emmett and his bunk-ass weed."

Jasper chuckled as he lit his cigarette. "How's he doin' these days?"

I shrugged. "Same old, same old. Still playing football, sleeping through classes and fucking Rose all the time. I swear, his dick is going to shrivel up and fall off." Puff.

"Yeah, but it would be worth it. I swear I'd give my left testicle to get one look at that pussy."

"Still not worth it. It's all brown and floppy."

"You've seen it?"

I shrugged. "She was running late for class one morning and fell in the doorway of our apartment. I was on my way out to go to the gym and had the misfortune of getting a front-row seat in the 'Rosalie Hale Isn't Wearing Panties' show." I shuddered. "Fucking disgusting."

I inhaled again, finally starting to feel the effects of the weed. My mouth began to take on a cottony feel and a familiar sense of calm settled on my shoulders. My arms felt oddly disconnected from my body, heavy and lazy.

"Aw, fuck dude. There's your mother."

I merely shrugged again, watching in amusement as Jasper dropped his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with his toe. He was an idiot if he thought the Ice Dragon wouldn't notice. Any oddities in her grass such as a footmark, tiny as it may be, didn't go unnoticed.

He continued to fidget, pulling as his shirt and smoothing out his hair. I chuckled. "Should I leave you two alone?"

He glared at me. "You know cougars ain't my thing."

"That's not what I remember. Didn't you go down on Mrs. Cope in the tenth—"

"Mrs. Masen!" Jasper called loudly in greeting.

"Jasper Whitlock, is that you? Well of course it is, I knew that was your Ferrari in the driveway! How are you, dear?"

I rolled my eyes.

Such a fucking actress.

"I'm doing well, Mrs. Masen. Did you color your hair? It looks lovely."

I wanted to gag. Instead, I puffed on the joint, ignoring them and aiming the gun at another tree in the distance.

"Well aren't you sweet! Yes, I did. It's called 'Rusty Auburn.' My stylist assured me it would have come out darker but it's still a little too light. I'm thinking about having her license revoked."

"No need to go to extreme measures, Mrs. Masen. I think it looks great."

"Thank you, dear. How is your mother doing? I haven't seen her in ages!"

Jasper turned on the full charm, grinning cheekily. So fucking much that his dimples came out. I wanted to hurl.

"She's moved on to husband number seven. They're honeymooning in Prague right now."

"Oh yes, I'd read about that in the papers. That sounds wonderful. What I wouldn't give for a little... Edward, is that marijuana you're smoking?"

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "I would never," I said in mock horror, placing a hand over my heart.

Jasper's facade broke and he choked on a laugh. I glanced over to see him covering his mouth, but I could still see the corners turned up.

"Do you have any idea what people will think if they smell that... that... scent drifting from my backyard? Edward, have you no care for anyone but yourself?" she hissed. I wanted to laugh in her face.

I sighed, inhaling the last few hits that I could before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out with my toe. "Mother, in all the ten and a half years that we have lived here, I have only seen thirty or so cars drive by while I was here. Every single one of them belonged butlers or maids that you fired." I exhaled, blowing smoke right into her face. "Trust me when I say that I don't think anyone will notice."

I could see her jaw clench, but I knew she wouldn't say anything. She was too much of a stuck-up cow to create a scene, even if we were only in front of my childhood best friend. So she just huffed and said through her teeth, "Jasper, dear, it was great to see you. Edward, your father would like to see you in his study in fifteen minutes. He expects you to be there on time," and then turned on her heel and marched back to the stairs that led up to the house.

I turned back to Jasper, only to see him eying my mother's ass. I glared at him.

"Oh come on, asshole. For a woman in her fifties, she has got a nice ass."

"Shut up, you prick," I mumbled, toeing the rifle.

"Why do you think she came out here to tell you that? Doesn't she usually just send a butler?"

I sighed. "We don't have one yet. She just fired him yesterday."

"Ah," was his intelligent reply. Not that I could blame him; it was a common occurrence in our families. Especially in his. His mother is worse than mine.

"I guess I better go then," he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. "Technically, I'm on lockdown until Mother and the Director get back and I am not supposed to leave the house. I just bribed Maria with a little tongue action and got a few hours."

"I thought she spoke Russian," I said, following a bird in the sky with the tip of my gun.

"Yeah, but she understands crude gestures," he said. And to demonstrate, he raised his index and middle finger, spread into a 'V' to his lips and provocatively flicked his tongue between then a few times. I snickered.

"Well then, go get her tiger," I laughed, dropping the gun to the ground and stretching my arms above my head. "I don't want to get in your way."

Always one for dramatics, Jasper bent over in a deep bow, his chest coming very close to level with his knees. He swooped a hand to his heart, the other behind him as he stuck a leg forward. "I appreciate your permission, my liege," he drawled in an overly excessive medieval British accent. "I shall not be gone but a fortnight."

I rolled my eyes and started back toward the house. "Peace out, fucker."

Stuffing my hands in my pocket, I climbed the fifty-something stairs up to the veranda, briefly nodding to the lawn guy who was pruning one of Mother's trees. On the way in through the French doors I ran into Gianna, my mother's assistant. She was attractive, dark and lean, but not my type. Still, I couldn't help but eye her ass in the tight skirt she was wearing as she passed by me over to the table and chairs in the corner. She looked over the china and crystal dinner set up, taking notes on a little pad.

"Hello Edward," she acknowledged, not even looking up. Disdain was evident in her tone and it made me smile.

"Hey there, Tia. What do we have going on tonight?"

"Your mother is having a few guests over and I'm just making sure everything is in order." Her voice was similar to that of someone explaining the news report of the morning. She did not want to speak to me, but that made it all the more fun.

"Oh yeah? Which guests?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "Isn't your father expecting you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the brick wall nonchalantly; even propping my foot against the wall for extra measure. "Yeah," I answered, grinning. "But I can be late if I tell him I'm talking to you."

"But you're not talking to me," she said, finally looking up. "At least you better not be in about five seconds."

"Feisty," I grinned. "I like it."

"Get lost, Edward," she said, pulling out her Blackberry and dialing in a number. She raised the phone to her ear and mouthed "Go!" to me before speaking into the phone. "I don't like these napkins, Henry. Get me new ones."

I turned and made my way to the door. "Make sure you fuck her hard, Henry," I called. "She's a bit frigid today." I walked through the doors, not waiting for a response and headed through the house to my father's study. The deeper I went into the house, the more my light mood dissipated. My feet grew heavier with each step, my body temperature seeming to drop ten degrees.

I came to the door and knocked lightly before pushing it open. Edward was sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he read through what looked like a legal document. He didn't glance up as I entered, didn't even acknowledge me. Putting on a false bravado like I put on a pair of jeans, I flopped down into an overstuffed leather chair that sat next to his desk. My legs went over the arm while my head hung back over the other arm.

"You better not be sitting like that when I look up," Edward said, his tone lethal.

Rolling my eyes, I righted myself. "What do you need, Dad?" I asked.

"I just got off the phone with Peter Rossi," he said, finally looking up at me. He eased his glasses off his nose and slowly placed them on the desk next to him. He folded his hands carefully, resting his chin on them. His movements were slow, meticulous. Calculated.

He was furious.

And I knew exactly what he was furious about.

Fuck. Me.

Peter Rossi was a very high ranking official on the Harvard Board of Directors. He had been at a cocktail party that I attended with Tanya one night and overheard her boasting to her father's society friends that I was planning to become a doctor—something I had not discussed with her in detail, so I knew she was only talking about it to show off. I was wasted, of course (that was the only way I could deal with those people), so when he confronted me about it, I told him of my plans to apply without thinking that this information would get back to my father.

Well, now it had. And I was fucked.

"Have anything to say?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Don't fucking lie to me!" he erupted, his face turning red as a vein pulsed in his forehead. "You sonofabitch, who the hell do you think you are? Embarrassing me like that in front of the motherfucking Senator. Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

"You don't even—"

"Know who he is? You're damn right I do! How do you fucking think you got into Harvard? Certainly not because of your intellect. How do you think Tanya did? Not because of hers either! Think, Edward! What is the name of that university on my degree, or can't you fucking read?" He hitched a thumb at the wall of degrees behind him. All from Harvard. Fuck. "Maybe you two got in because your parents went there? Maybe because your fathers both gave a half a million dollars to the same fraternity? The same fraternity that they both belonged to?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn't care that he got me into Harvard with his money—it was never a doubt in my mind. What made me feel sick to my stomach was the fact that I had underestimated the power and position he held in the establishment. I thought maybe he knew a professor or two; now it was being made blatantly clear to me that he knew way more people than just a few. He knew the Headmaster, the counselors, he probably even knew the fucking clerks in the Admissions Office.

And that thought made me even sicker. There was no chance I was applying to Medical School now. Not even a prayer.

"If you were anyone else's son you could be a doctor," Edward spat. "If you were Carlisle Cullen's son you could be a doctor. You could go to UW with the rest of those useless fucks and get swept under the rug like a goddamn cockroach. But you are not anyone else's son, you are my son and you will not embarrass me. When I set up appointments for you, you go. When I hand you connections on a fucking business card, you call the number. When I put you on the path of success and prestige and fucking power, you take that fucking road running! I have put too much time and effort and money into your sorry ass to see it wasted. So don't you dare embarrass me like that again, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," I replied, ashamed at how my voice cracked. At how weak I sounded.

"Good. Now get your sorry ass out of my office. And don't let me see your face again."

I stood from the chair and walked toward the door, my head low and my heart heavy. I reached for the doorknob, twisting it and pulling the door open. His voice stopped me again.

"And Edward?"

I turned to face him. His grin made me want to vomit.

"Tanya's mother always liked it from behind. I assume Tanya would as well."

"Dude that's fucked up," Jasper told me as he sped down the highway to Port Angeles, passing the blunt to me. I took a drag and blew it out the window, shrugging.

"He was right though. She always cums harder when I fuck her that way."

"Yeah but I mean," Jasper paused as he took a drag, "Your dad fucked her mom. How long do you think that went on, dude? Tanya could be your—"

"I don't even want to think about it," I said, halting his statement as I knew what would come next. It was something I had been pondering all afternoon. "All I know is I'm not fucking her anymore."

"Good call," he said, tossing the joint out the window. "Where's this place we're going to anyway?"

"It's called Volterra," I answered, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Just opened up a week ago."

"Any good?"

I shrugged. "I've heard some good things about it. The dancers supposedly have huge tits."

"Welcome to every strip club in America, Edward," he said, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't make this place special."

"Well I don't know what the fuck you want me to say!" I responded sharply, blowing smoke out the window. "It opened a week ago. I just got here yesterday. How much am I supposed to know about it?"

"Woah, chill out dude," Jasper responded, looking warily at me. "I'm just trying to understand the rush. I mean you didn't really give me any forewarning, just called me up and insisted we leave. I'm trying to process it."

I scrubbed a hand down my face. "Edward's just being a massive prick today," I answered. "And Mother is having some company over tonight and I'm not in the mood to play the part of trophy son tonight."

"I understand. You want some more weed?"

"I thought you said you couldn't smoke," I said in confusion. "Just a few hours ago you were completely against it."

"Mrs. Whitlock and Number Seven extended their honeymoon for another two months. So I'm good to go for at least a few weeks."

"Well fuck," I said, reaching into the glove compartment. "Do you have any stronger shit?"

"I think I've got some acid in the trunk," he said, pressing on the accelerator. "Wait, hang on." He reached over and rifled through the glove compartment, flipping through fake IDs and fast food napkins until he pulled out a little plastic baggie. He flicked it into my lap. "Look through that and tell me if it's good. It's been in there for a while but it was decent quality when I bought it."

I opened the bag of cocaine, my mouth watering as I raised it near my face. It had a slight shimmer, a good thing. Smelled slightly like gasoline, check. Not pure powder, had a few clumps. I dipped my finger in it and rubbed it along my gums.

I waited.

And waited.

"I think someone cut it with lidacaine," I announced, zipping the baggie back up. I ran my tongue between my lips and gums, which were finally starting to numb.

"Are you shitting me?"

I shook my head. "I've done enough coke to know whether this shit is pure or cut. It's cut."

"Well fuck, man, get rid of it."

I tossed it out the open window without a second thought.

"Jesus fuck, that's the fourth time in a month."

"Are you for real?"

"Yeah man, I don't know what it is. All the dealers up here suck ass."

"Well that's what you get for not staying in Texas when your mother gave you the chance."

He rolled his eyes. "I was six, Edward. I didn't even know what cocaine was. All I knew was I wanted to live Mommy because Daddy was mean."

"Well, now you have to deal with the consequences."

He signaled onto an exit ramp and slowed to a stop at the bottom. "Well, fuck," he said with a Southern accent. "I just may move back there yet."

We arrived at the club a little past nine and it was already packed. We each took two hits of ecstasy with a "Bottom's up" from Jasper and made our way out of the parking lot. Ignoring complaints from people in line, we pushed our way to the front and spoke hurriedly to the bouncer. "Edward Masen and Jasper Whitlock."

He scanned the list, taking way too long to find our names. Finally, he located them and moved aside the red velvet rope, stepping back to allow us through the doorway.

The music was loud; the room throbbed with a pulse of its own. The flashing lights were enough to give someone a brain aneurism. The room smelled of sweat and heat and sex and alcohol. It was familiar. It was comfortable.

But it only made me tense up that much more.

I grabbed ahold of the first girl I could, grinding my hips against her and sighing in relief when she responded. I wrapped one arm around her hips, hauling her back hard against me and fisted the other hand in her hair, holding her head firmly in front of me so she couldn't move. She couldn't turn around. She would remain faceless.

We ground against each other like savages, barbarically thrusting in time to the thick music pumping from the speakers. I could feel her breathing again me, her heart pounding erratically, her breaths coming quickly. I pulled her head back against my shoulder, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I blew hot air against her skin, not moved when she shivered in my arms.

I picked up the pace and ground more harshly against her ass. I reached a hand down, digging at the flesh of her stomach until I could get beneath her dress. I stuck my fingers down the front of her panties, not caring about the wetness I found there, not caring what she wanted or whether it felt good for her or not.

I pumped my fingers inside of her once, twice, three times. She arched against me. Pulling my hand out, I grabbed her around the waist and hauled her in the direction of the bathrooms. I pushed the door open, ignoring the girls at the mirror fixing their hair and reapplying their makeup. Pushing a cubicle stall door open, I shoved the girl inside, slamming and locking the door behind me.

I refused to look at her. I kept my eyes focused on my hands as they pushed her dress up, on her legs as I wrapped them around my hips, on her nipples as her back arched against the wall. On her fingers as she undid my belt, on her hips as she pushed them down onto me, on her pussy as I shoved my cock into it roughly over and over again.

Her cries went unheard. Her skin went untasted. She went unsatisfied. As soon I spilled inside of her I pulled out, pulling up my jeans and refastening my belt, pushing through the door. I heard her screaming profanities behind me but I couldn't decipher the words. I wasn't paying attention anyway.

I noticed nothing as I pushed through the club. Didn't notice hands reaching out to grab me, didn't notice the music changing or the shots that appeared under my nose. I didn't notice anything as I pushed through the back entrance, didn't notice as I fell on my hands and knees in the back alley.

I didn't notice anything until the entire contents of my stomach appeared before me on the ground below and my head hit the asphalt as I passed out cold.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Yes, no? Sorry about the delay, but it could not be helped.

Few things: Don't worry about Edward, he's fine. No harm will come to him, I promise. Well, not the overdosing kind at least. Kind of a rocky home life, more will come on that at a later date.

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?

This week's MOVIE REC:

*Love and Other Drugs* with Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhal: Yes, it's been out for quite some time, I know. But if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It's full of all kinds of smut, foul language and a ton of good laughs… so it's basically a fanfic on screen. The storyline is fantastic and even had me weepy at a few scenes; it is a perfect blend of comedy, romance and drama and is great for a movie night with the friends. One word of caution however: Moms, don't watch this with your kids. And kids (who should be over 18 if you're reading this), don't watch this with your moms. I made that mistake and let me tell you, I still have not recovered from the mortification of hearing some woman moaning "Squeeze my nub harder" while my mother was in the room with me—and let's just say it got worse from there.

Leave a review!